


27 Freckles

by burninglikeabridge



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 16:16:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1394104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burninglikeabridge/pseuds/burninglikeabridge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas had been wrong in the beginning. <br/>Dean wanted Cas just as badly as Cas wanted Dean. He proved it, time and time again. </p><p>~ a short little fic in which Cas may or may not kiss Dean's freckles ~</p>
            </blockquote>





	27 Freckles

~  
Castiel loved every part of Dean Winchester.  
Dean was all tan skin, tousled light hair, bright green eyes.   
From head to toe, inches and inches of perfect skin.   
Cas had seen him down to his atoms, down to the tiniest bits and pieces of Dean, and he loved every part.   
There wasn't a single cell out of place, in Cas's mind.   
He had reassembled Dean from ashes and dust, into the new person he was now. He had put Dean back together.   
No one knew him better than Cas. Physically, at least.   
He stared every chance he had. He never said it aloud.  
He knew he couldn't.   
It wasn't his job, to fall in love with Dean. To be pining after him, hopelessly hoping.   
It wasn't what he was sent to do.   
He didn't even know what he was hoping so desperately for.   
For Dean to notice? For Dean to look back at him the same way?  
Cas knew that this was all it would be- staring after Dean as he walked away time and time again.   
Yet still, Cas's chest ached at the thought of him.   
Not that Dean even knew.   
Dean had no idea how perfect his green eyes were. How flawless the planes of his chest and shoulders were. How captivating the scattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks were.   
It amazed Cas, the smallest details of humans.   
As if whoever had crafted them, had taken the time and steady hand of an artist to paint in the color of their eyes, the color of their lips.   
No two people looked the same; there were always birthmarks or scars, skin tones and markings.   
Since falling to earth, he'd found everything to be painfully beautiful.   
People were so startlingly complex. There was so much he didn't understand.  
It was painful, how stunning Cas found people to be; they fell in love, they fell down, they smiled, laughed, cried, gave up and gave each other hope all at once.   
It was painful, how beautiful the world was.   
Dean Winchester was the most painful of all. 

 

'Cas?'   
Dean prayed to him, outside the motel.   
He often did, and Cas always listened, even when he wasn't there.  
He hung on each word, sometimes imagining that Dean was saying something else, that he was saying, 'I love you' instead of 'I need you.'   
He imagined Dean saying other things too, sometimes.  
It was stupid to pretend, but he couldn't help it.   
Cas was already there, just behind him.   
He lingered in the darkness there, unsure of whether or not he should make a sound to let Dean know he was there.   
Dean started to speak again.   
Cas held his breath.   
'Cas, buddy.' Dean sounded sad. Sadder than he had the last time he'd prayed to Cas.   
Cas always listened, to the softest sounds of his breathing between words, to each syllable.  
Cas listened carefully, to the shaky sound of his voice.   
'Listen, this isn't something I normally do.' Dean spoke slowly, as if uncertain. As if the empty darkness around him was listening intently, was judging him.   
When Dean spoke again, his words caught in his chest, and he coughed once.   
'But I need you.'   
Cas's heart skipped a beat. He drew a sharp breath, unnaccustomed to the feeling.   
'You're... Wherever you are.' Dean went on. 'But I wish that you were... Here. You belong right... Here. Cas, I-'   
Dean cut off, shaking his head.   
Cas could only see the back of his head, but he imaged Dean pressing his lips together, maybe frowning.   
'I need you here.' Dean's voice cracked the slightest bit. 'Listen, man- there's dickhead angels everywhere. And I just.. I need you here, Cas.' He hesitated. 'That's it.'   
Cas shifted on his feet.  
He wondered if now was a good time to admit that he'd been watching Dean.  
But he didn't, not yet.  
He watched as Dean ran a hand through his hair and sighed.  
'Cas? Cas.' Dean's voice took on a slight edge of desperation.   
Cas's breath caught in his throat.  
Desperate? He wondered. Dean is desperate?   
'Dean.' Cas stepped forward.  
Dean turned, his eyes lighting up for the slightest second. Then his expression faded to grim realization, as if he'd just reminded himself of a terrible truth.  
There he was, and Cas found himself staring again.   
Dean.  
Wonderful Dean, worthy Dean.   
Dean was everything and more, but he could not see it in himself.   
The love he lacked for himself, Cas made up for with his own love and faith in Dean.   
It was so painfully obvious, he might as well have etched it onto his chest. Yet Dean was blind to it.  
Dean stepped closer.   
'I've been calling for you.' He said blankly.  
'I heard you.' Cas replied, just as flat.   
They stood there, tension between them, like there always was.   
Cas didn't move.   
He looked at Dean, willing him to realize, to understand, to know without Cas having to tell him.  
Dean remained oblivious.   
'I... Uh, I need you to find something for me.' Dean cleared his throat. 'It's some kind of key thing.'   
Dean went on to describe the object to Cas, who nodded and listened to the details but wasn't really focusing.   
He was staring at Dean, and Dean wasn't noticing, and- Was he shifting closer? Cas wasn't sure.  
But Dean was so close now.  
Cas could count the freckles on his nose.  
One, two, three.   
'-It's been a goddamn mess around here, well, everywhere-' Dean was speaking, but Cas was counting.   
Seven, eight.   
'-Cas?'   
Dean was frowning at him.   
'Yes, Dean.' Cas turned away.   
'Can you do it, or what?'   
I always do, Cas thought. It doesn't matter what it is. It doesn't matter what I have to do. For you, Dean, always.   
'Of course I can.' Cas frowned. 'I always do what you need.'   
'Yeah.. Well... Thanks.' Dean cleared his throat awkwardly.   
Cas looked at him again, and regretted it.   
Dean's eyes burned bright in the dim light of the motel porch lamp, and his jaw was set as he looked back at Cas.   
Determined. Afraid, still.  
But it was his refusal to show or acknowledge that fear, that gave him drive, purpose. It was the strength in that, where Dean saw only weakness, Cas saw the strength.   
His expression wavered slightly, his jaw sliding out of place as he ground his teeth together, looking down.   
Unsure.   
Cas was suddenly startled by how beautiful he found Dean in that moment.   
'You're welcome, Dean.' He coughed once, looking away.   
'Okay.' Dean said, and his tone was hard to read; rough, ragged, but not angry, not upset.   
They stood there, a safe distance of a few feet apart.   
Every cell in Cas's body wanted to tear Dean apart. He wanted clothes, skin, feeling. He wanted everything.   
But he couldn't; he couldn't take it from Dean, and Dean wouldn't give it.   
Cas found himself trying to count freckles again, and realized he should leave.   
'Goodnight, Dean.' His own voice sounded strange and foreign. He felt nervous.   
'Cas, wait-'   
Dean bit his lip, looked away again.   
You don't know, Cas realized. You are unaware of how beautiful you are.   
He suddenly wanted to grab Dean and tell him, to make him see that he wasn't broken, he wasn't bad. He wanted to show Dean that he was good, and everything he did was good because he tried, and so many humans didn't even bother to try.  
Dean was good.   
'Look, things are... Things are going crazy. But you... I know you... Have a lot of shit to do, with angels and whatever. But it's... It's late. Really late, and maybe you should-' Dean shook his head, as if berating himself for a stupid idea. He took a deep breath.   
'Maybe you should stay.' Dean finished.   
'Stay?' Cas repeated, blinking.   
'In the... Hotel.' Dean rubbed at the back of his neck and coughed, to fill the silence.   
'Oh.' Cas breathed. 'I see.'   
'If you wanted. Then you'd be... Well, a hell of a lot closer if anything goes down.'   
'Yes.' Cas said.   
'Well... Goodnight.' Dean shrugged, noncommittal, and turned to walk away.  
'Dean-'   
Dean turned, and Cas lost all nerve.   
'Goodnight, Dean. He said.   
Instead of 'wait, Dean', or 'stay, Dean' or 'I need you too, Dean'.   
Instead of, 'I love you, Dean.'   
He simply said goodnight, and Dean simply nodded. 

 

Dean always blamed himself.  
Even if he wasn't there, if someone got hurt, he felt responsible.  
Cas had learned this over the years.   
Dean felt obligated to be everyone's hero. He felt that it was his job to protect everyone.  
It wasn't; Cas knew that. He tried to tell Dean. He tried to make Dean see that he tried his best, that Dean's best was better than most people's.   
That Dean was good.  
Dean didn't see it. He didn't see the hero in himself that Cas could see.  
'I could've done something.'   
Dean sat on the edge of the hotel bed, his head in his hands.  
'That's why Sam left this time.' Dean was talking aloud, but Cas didn't feel like he was actually talking to him.   
It felt more like Dean was berating himself, and Cas happened to be there.   
'No, Dean.' Cas replied after a length of silence.  
He lingered awkwardly, a few feet away from Dean, uncertain of whether or not it would be okay to sit next to him.   
'What do you know?' Dean accused. When he finally looked up at Cas, his eyes were shining.  
He's crying, Cas thought.   
Dean is crying?   
'You're one of God's little bitches.' Dean mumbled.  
'I am not,' Cas stepped closer, feeling anger and frustration rise.  
'I believe in you, Dean.'   
Dean glanced up, and held Cas's gaze for a moment. Cas went on.   
'I gave up my entire existence to save you. To help you. You won't let me down.'   
'Haven't I?' Dean challenged.  
Cas bit his tongue.  
Looking at Dean, so perfect, so angry at himself, so sad.   
Cas wanted to tell him the truth.  
'No, Dean.' He said instead.   
Dean looked at him, but he wasn't angry anymore.  
All the anger drained away and he was broken.   
'Well, I will.' He spoke softly, as if afraid to admit it aloud.  
I should not touch him, Cas reminded himself.   
Though he wanted to touch Dean. Touch his hair, his face; offer comfort.   
Cas grabbed Dean's shoulders.   
'You won't.' Cas reassured.  
Dean's eyes were wide with surprise and he let out a slow, shaky breath.  
Cas was inches away.   
Every instinct told him to move, but he couldn't.   
He could've counted freckles.   
But he didn't.   
Dean moved, and for a moment Cas thought he was pulling away.   
He slid his hands up to rest on Cas's shoulders, and Cas thought Dean might push him away.   
Instead, he leaned forward, and brushed his lips against Cas's, just barely.  
Warm. Soft. Alive.   
Wonderful and terrible all at once; wonderful in itself, but terrible because Cas knew he couldn't have it.   
Cas's breathing hitched at the feeling.   
Dean held there for just another second.   
Then Dean sat back, as if gauging Cas's response.   
'Dean-' Cas warned.  
'Don't.' Dean let his hands slide away. He wouldn't meet Cas's eyes.   
Cas let go of Dean's shoulders.   
'I just-' Dean shook his head. 'I'm drunk.'   
'Oh.' Was all Cas could manage. 'I... Oh.' He turned away.   
He was terrified.  
He had never wanted anything so badly; his hands shook, his palms sweated, his throat was dry.   
He wanted to take Dean by the shoulders again. He wanted to show him everything that he couldn't say out loud. He wanted more than a brush of lips. He wanted Dean.   
He'd pulled this man from hell itself.   
He'd rebelled against all of heaven for this man.   
He'd killed for this man.  
He'd died for this man.   
Oh, heaven forgive me, Cas thought. I want to kiss this man.   
'Dean.' Cas turned to face him again.   
Dean looked up, confusion written in his expression as Cas stepped over to him.   
He leaned down, grabbed Dean's face between his hands and pressed their mouths together.   
This was better.   
Cas didn't know what to feel; everything was too much. Dean's warmth, the way their mouths fit together.  
Dean didn't move.   
He sat perfectly still, as if afraid to ruin the moment.   
He shifted forward, to kiss Cas back.   
Cas pulled away.   
'Cas?' Dean opened his eyes, slowly, as if he was afraid of what Cas might look like.   
'I'm sorry.' Cas said automatically, moving back.   
Dean caught him by the arm, gripping him tightly.   
'Wait. Just... Wait.' Dean took a deep breath.   
Cas's heart nearly gave out.  
Dean, disheveled and confused. What a sight.   
Dean was taking shaky breaths, his chest rising and falling, his lips parted.  
I just kissed those lips, he reminded himself.   
What is happening?   
The feeling of Dean's fingers curled around his forearm was enough to make it hard to breathe.   
'Do it again.' Dean said sharply, breaking Cas out of his trance.  
'What?'   
'Do that again.' Dean repeated, his voice ragged. He stood up then, and he was nearly chest to chest with Cas.   
Cas fought the urge to pull away.   
Wrong, he told himself. Everything you are doing is wrong.   
You're not meant to do this.  
Dean is human.   
Dean Winchester is not meant for you.  
But Cas didn't move. It felt too right.   
Dean let his hand slip away from Cas's arm, his fingers lingering too long.   
'Do it.' Dean's voice was hoarse.   
Dean stood there, desperation plainly written on his face.   
He opened his mouth to speak again, then shook his head, closed it.   
As if he'd suddenly decided, he grabbed a handful od Cas's hair and crushed their mouths together.  
Cas made a small sound of surprise and stumbled back.   
Dean's hands grabbed at his clothes. Cas grabbed at Dean.   
Everything happened at once.   
Cas knew that he couldn't do this. He knew that he was sent to protect Dean, that this wasn't meant to happen.   
Cas knew he should stop. But with Dean's hands slipping under his clothes, with Dean's mouth racing over his skin-   
He didn't. 

 

It's strange, Cas came to realize.   
It is very strange, how you can grow to know a person in one way, only to rediscover them entirely in another.  
The way that a person can be so strictly in one category of your life, only to be expanded into all aspects of your very being.   
All by one event, by one night.   
It's strange, Cas decided. How things like these work.   
How your love for another person can change you in so many ways.   
It's strange but beautiful. 

 

Limited things have ways of feeling endless.  
Limited; their days in the Impala, their nights in the Impala, their times in small towns, their times in hotels. Every time in between.   
Heavy breathing, wearing each other's clothes on accident, messy hair and bite marks.   
Cas had never felt anything close to this; even being near Dean was more exciting than thousands of years spent in heaven.   
Fingers laced together, kisses on necks, promises of 'I'm here' and 'I wouldn't leave you'; Dean was heaven now.   
They lived a life of uncertainty. Nothing was definate; anything could happen, anytime. Everything they held dear could be snatched away without a moment's notice.  
They could lose everything. They could lose each other.   
Their stolen moments were small. The relationship was less than functional and healthy, but neither of them cared.   
The time together was precious but short.   
Yet these things had a way of feeling endless. 

 

Cas had been wrong in the beginning.   
Dean wanted Cas just as badly as Cas wanted Dean. He proved it, time and time again. 

 

'You're beautiful. You don't know.'   
Cas laid with his head on Dean's bare chest, in the motel's bed.  
Cas had never had a real home on earth, but sometimes he liked to pretend that this was their home. He imagined home to be something like this. Dean was his home.   
Cas traced his finger over Dean's cheekbone.  
He tilted his head up and placed a small kiss on Dean's jawline.  
'You're such a girl.' Dean groaned, but he was smiling. He carded his fingers through Cas's hair.   
'You know I am not a girl, Dean.' Cas frowned.   
Dean rolled his eyes.  
Cas stared at him.  
Shamelessly, now. Cas had already memorized every detail of Dean. Every perfect detail.  
The color of his eyes, the shape of his mouth.   
His 27 freckles.   
Cas leaned up and kissed the very tip of Dean's nose.  
Dean laughed in response.   
'What was that for?'   
'Freckles.' Cas murmured against his chest.   
Dean kissed his forehead in response. He froze for a moment. Forehead kisses were too sentimental for him.   
He preferred less vulnerable exchanges.   
'Um...' He started to make an excuse but Cas cut him off.   
'And what was that for?' Cas asked.   
Dean considered a sarcastic response. Then he realized, the only answer would be the truth.   
'For you.' 

 

Cas looked up at him from where he sat on the steps of the porch.   
Dean was pacing in front of him, his eyes still lit up from the hunt.   
'I love you.' He told Dean. He froze for a moment, wondering if he shouldn't have said it so suddenly, so out of place.  
Dean froze, too.   
'I'm sorry, I-' Cas started.   
He was interrupted by Dean leaning down and kissing Cas.   
The kiss was more at the corner of his mouth, and Dean stumbled a bit, but Cas leaned into it anyways.   
'I... Me too. I mean, I, you...' Dean held Cas's face in his hands. He looked down, cleared his throat. 'I love you too.'   
Cas wasn't certain how he was supposed to respond, but his heart skipped and his words choked him up.   
'Dean-'   
'Sh.' Dean kissed him again. 'You don't have to say anything.'   
So Cas didn't. 

 

They talked of marriage sometimes.  
Only late in the night, when Dean was moderately drunk and Cas was slightly less drunk.   
They talked of running away, away from the apocalypse and all of the angels and everything. Even from Sam.   
Dean assumed that Sam could have his normal, domesticity filled life, and so could Dean.  
Cas and Dean both knew that it would never happen. But they talked, all the same.   
Once, Dean was the one who brought up the idea.  
'You'd marry me, wouldn't you?' He said.  
He laid next to Cas in the grass, a few feet from the Impala.  
They sometimes did that, in the middle of the night; drove out to a hill somewhere, laid and looked at stars, even though it made Cas sad to think of anything falling from the sky. Dean held his hand.   
'Dean, I-' Cas turned to look at him, and Dean lost all nerve.   
'It's just, it's a hypothetical thing.' Dean added quickly.   
'Yes, I would.' Cas said, as if it was the only thing to say.   
Dean was surprised by the answer.  
They'd never talked this directly about it before.   
'Oh. Good.' Dean replied.   
'Yes, this is good.' Cas agreed. He was looking up at the sky again.   
Dean sighed, draping his leg over Cas's.   
Good, Dean thought. This is really good. You and me, it's good. You're good. You're great. I love you, I love you, I love you. I'd marry you, like in the chick movies. I'd marry you a thousand times, if you wanted. This is better than good.   
All he said aloud was:   
'Yeah, it's good.' 

 

Dean never imagined falling in love.  
He imagined one night stands and porn stars. He imagined no attatchments and no middle names.   
He didn't dream of having someone to be with him, to be his.   
Or at least, he convinced himself that he didn't.  
He told himself he didn't need it.   
And then there was Castiel.  
Cas had a way of changing things.  
He changed Dean. 

 

'Stop kissing my nose!' Dean pushed Cas away halfheartedly.   
'It's the freckles!' Cas laughed, sneaking a kiss onto Dean's neck instead.  
They laid in the bed all day, pretending it was theirs and not just a random hotel. 

 

Years later, Dean will remember this.  
After everything has happened, after so much fire and pain and the crushing loss of the greatest and only love he'd ever known; Dean will remember.  
It will take him years after the fact, to even speak the name aloud, to even allow himself to grieve.   
He will think about blue eyes looking up at him, a half smile just for him. He will think of the way he sounded, breathy and soft, late at night. Dean will think of the outline of his bare shoulders in the darkness.   
He will think about the way it felt to have another hand intertwined with his own, to have a constant, warm presence next to him.   
He will never forget the way it sounded when he said 'I love you, Dean', or 'I gave everything for you and I'd do it again, Dean.'   
He will remember the day that he realized just how limited this all was, the day he realized that nothing is endless and forever is a lie.   
He will sit alone and think of his angel, fond memories, and he will know that there's never been time better spent, no matter how short the time was.   
He will have to live their love story through memory alone.  
Cas isn't there.   
It will be 7, maybe even 8 or 9 years, after the event of Cas's death, before Dean Winchester can think of him again.   
But Dean will be used to loss by then. He will know the feeling of something being ripped away from you, and he will take comfort in its familiarity.  
The comfort that he used to take, in trench coat arms, will be gone.   
But the memory will not. 

 

Somewhere, not in heaven or in hell but somewhere in between, Cas will remember, too.  
He will remember the feeling of belonging to someone so completely and perfectly. He will remember his heart skipping beats at the thought of Dean. He will remember the love so great that he fell from heaven for it.   
He will remember Dean Winchester, and his messy hair and his bright eyes, his smile and his 27 freckles.  
Cas can't ever go back, but he will remember.   
He will never let himself forget.


End file.
